I fell hard for Cardi B.
I literally cried when I listened to her album for the first time.
And I know I shouldn’t put people up on pedestals. Because it’s not right to elevate any one person above others, like they’re superhuman and can do no wrong (or worse, can’t be held accountable for doing wrong).
And because I know that when I finally step up to that pedestal for a closer look, it’ll crush me to see all the dust, cracks, glue, and everything else I’ve been ignoring.
Still, despite knowing better, I caught myself building her up on a pedestal.
I was quick to forgive her for her mishaps, and justify her actions when any bad news came out. And I don’t fully regret that part. Pressure on celebs is hard, and harder on women. The press pounds viciously on every clickbait-able opportunity.
Thing is, it wasn’t just about me protecting the hypothetical “other side” to these stories. The problem was that I refused to accept that Cardi could do wrong.
I was protecting this weird, unrealistic, unfair version of her.
So, obviously it broke my heart when a friend of mine (who also enjoys her music) told be about some difficult stories they’d heard from a makeup artist who’d worked with Cardi. It shone a light on sides of her that made her seem inconsiderate and cruel.
I know those stories don’t paint the full picture. Regardless, they serve as a firm reminder that she’s a fucking human, and she’s got her issues.
Like the rest of us, she’s probably usually trying to be a good person. Even with the extreme pressure and complexity that comes with her life and career. But of course she’s going to fuck up.
I still admire Cardi. She does things that women still aren’t socially allowed to do. She’s loud, and she takes up space. She owns her sexuality. She loves herself. She’s political. And she more than holds her own in a male-dominated, misogynistic music industry.
When I listen to her music, I feel like I can do anything. I feel like I’m yelling “FUCK YOU” to anyone that ever made me feel like I wasn’t good enough.
But never again will I do her, or myself, the disservice of pretending that someone can be perfect.
process &
behind-the-scenes
